


On The Metro

by BARALAIKA



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Intersex, M/M, Male Solo, Pre-Canon, Prostitution, Regret, Walk Of Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BARALAIKA/pseuds/BARALAIKA
Summary: He’s never going to make it. So why should he even try? (Spoiler-free)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	On The Metro

_What the fuck am I doing with my life?_

He’d have spat but he didn’t want to feel any more dirty than he already was, so all V could do was swallow his rancid spit. Idly, he ran his tongue over his teeth and cringed at the sensation of a hair— _somebody else’s_ — caught between the vulgar bone extrusions.

Cost too much to get them all done at once, lamentably. At that point, he should have just had his whole jaw replaced, but something held him back. V groan-sighed as he leant back in his metro seat and spread his legs out in front of him in the half-empty aisle. One hand ran back over the silken stubble of his close-shaved head as he dared to reach up to detach the hair from his mouth. He didn’t really care if anybody was watching him. The last train until the transition to morning service didn’t care too much about what anybody did, as long as it didn’t disturb them, so he took advantage of the smattering of other passengers’ distraction to hook his fingers into his aching maw.

Ugh. His tricks hadn’t been gentle. V swore he heard a cartoon _dwink_ as he extracted a fucking pube from his molars and hazarded a glance at it. Long, smooth and black. Too nice to be natural. The guy that had the most fun with his face had to have paid for each strand he’d had rooted into his groin and here his little man-slut was, stealing from him! V scoffed and wiped it off on the leg of his pants. Idiot deserved it, everything needed time to bed in— just like his teeth. Half ceramic, half bone. All of them little more than cum catchers at the end of the day.

_I’m a fucking joke._

He didn’t even remember their names and that was the worst part. Just cock after cock, heavy hands and possessive grasps, impacts on his body and a hot intrusion, wet and foul, until they came and dumped him on the ground. A shift of his legs pulled at his sodden, matted pubic hair ( _all his own— he didn’t see the point in paying for it_ ) in his too-tight boxers and sent the centre seam up against the slice of his pussy.

Raising his hips was a mistake— a bubble of air trapped in his abused, sore hole spluttered out of his wet, thick lips and sent a glut of cunt-warmed cum into his underwear. He was sure nobody fucking heard it over the clatter of the train, but it _felt_ like a foghorn-grade cum queef and that was what haunted him. V’s fingers curled against his head as if to grip his hair but slid against the stubby strands instead. Some of the old bastards had complained they couldn’t grip him by the hair any more, but it was a blessing. He’d never had much patience for the gesture.

_Just a soiled whore, huh? Never gonna make something of yourself._


End file.
